by Iain Cameron
‘I do, I wouldn’t embark on this course of action without giving it a lot of consideration first. This is a serious accusation, Ms Mitchell, against a well-respected public figure.’
This new accusation presented him with two problems. One, the difficulty going after such a high-profile individual as Raymond Schofield. Two, landing another, unrelated murder on his plate.
‘Why would Mr Schofield keep such incriminating information? If he deleted the emails, we would all be none the wiser.’ As Henderson asked the question, he realised the answer.
‘Ray is a conniving sod and trusts no one,’ she explained. ‘Fearing that Tracey would double-cross him if he was implicated in Allan’s death, he kept them hidden in his London flat, ready for his lawyer to retrieve. This way, if he goes down, she would go down with him.’
‘Conniving, right enough.’
‘If that doesn’t convince you about Ray, this might.’
She handed over another piece of paper, this time looking more like the output from banking software. He noticed the total figure, a few thousand short of five hundred million pounds.
‘Those are amounts Ray has hidden away in Caribbean banks, not to be included in his divorce declaration.’
‘His divorce from…Rebecca, isn’t it?’
‘When I mentioned to her that I had the schedule, she told me she had previously supplied it to her divorce lawyer.’
‘Just to be clear,’ Henderson said, ‘The Times article we talked about earlier stated he pocketed around eight hundred million from the sale of his businesses. He squirreled five-hundred-million away in those Caribbean banks, and he’s saying he’s only worth three-fifty, of which Rebecca is entitled to half.’
‘Newspapers always publish rounded figures, it makes it easier for readers to understand, but you’re more or less correct. As Raybeck’s former FD, I assure you, the sums do add up.’
‘How does he account for the missing money? The eight hundred million number is being used by all the newspapers I’ve seen.’
‘He’s produced dummy documents from friendly banks and financial institutions saying he spent it on consultant fees, bank charges, and repaying loans.’
‘If this is what he did, and I’ve no reason to doubt you, it’s morally reprehensible, but it’s not illegal. Divorce is a civil matter, not criminal. I believe Russian oligarchs salt money away all the time.’
‘I know it’s a civil matter, but I’m not just talking about divorce. I’m talking about a motive for the murder of Martin Turner at Jonas Baines, and possibly Alex Vincent as well.’
‘Go on.’
‘The schedule you have in front of you was removed from a safe at Ray Schofield’s Bayswater apartment in London.’
‘By you?’
‘Yes. It had only been in the safe a matter of weeks as before then, it was in a file in Alex Vincent’s office at Jonas Baines.’
Henderson could immediately see the implications of this. ‘You think it was removed the night of the murder by the killer?’
‘I’m sure of it. You see, it was originally taken from Ray’s office by Rebecca and handed to Alex Vincent to form part of the divorce settlement.’
‘But it disappeared following the break-in?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know this is the same schedule and isn’t a copy?’
‘I’ve talked to Rebecca and she assures me it is. If you don’t believe me, turn it over.’
He did so.
‘That’s Rebecca’s handwriting,’ she said pointing. ‘When she first got hold of it, she made a series of notes to remind her of some of the abbreviations used by banks.’
‘How do you think Ray managed to retrieve this document? We have CCTV of the intruder and from memory, Mr Schofield isn’t as tall or as well-built as the person in the pictures.’
‘I don’t think he would have done it personally, he never does the dirty stuff himself, but he knows a great number of people, some of whom work with Pete Hammond.’
‘Who?’
‘He’s Ray’s odd-job man, but he’s more than that. Yes, he can fix washing machines and mends fences, but when Ray was at Raybeck, Pete was responsible for dealing with protestors, problematic tenants, and for silencing a journalist who was engaged in a long-running hate campaign against Ray.’
‘I wouldn’t think a leisure business attracts much aggro.’
‘You’d be surprised. With the coffee shops, people would object to a big chain putting local coffee shops out of business, while on the hotel side, we were often accused of desecrating local icons. Most of the time, they were referring to unsightly water towers or crumbling windmills, but some people will protest at anything.’
‘Pete’s role in this was what?’
‘He was in charge of organising a group of guys to break-up protests, eject problem tenants from properties owned by Ray, all manner of things.’
‘So, you think Hammond, or someone else, broke into Jonas Baines and retrieved the financial schedule?’
‘I’m sure of it. It’s not beyond Hammond’s range of skills. He’s a former soldier with several convictions for violence.’
Henderson had already noted Hammond’s name. He put the words PNC - Police National Computer – check, beside it.
‘I can see how this gives Pete Hammond or someone else, a motive for being in the offices of Jonas Baines at night, and I thank you for that, but you also said you had reason to believe Ray was also behind Alex Vincent’s death.’
‘Yes, when I was in St Lucia with Ray a week ago, I heard him talking to Pete Hammond, yelling at him, in fact, to get rid of someone. Days later Alex Vincent was dead.’
‘Why would he want to kill Alex Vincent?’
‘Rebecca told me she was creating such a stink about losing this financial schedule, Alex had decided to talk to forensic accountants who would go over Ray’s financials with a fine tooth-comb. He killed him to stop it happening.’
THIRTY-TWO
‘I wish I’d been there,’ Walters said to Henderson, as they walked between buildings towards the Custody Suite.
‘Why?’
‘To see your reaction. Me and Phil looked her up on the web, and when he saw her pictures he went gaga. I have to admit, even cynical me was impressed.’
‘Well, you can tell him and anyone else who’s interested, she’s a very attractive woman, but no way did I go gaga. She’s also principled. Don’t forget, it must have taken a mountain of courage for her to walk in here. At the end of the day, she’s biting the hand that feeds her.’
‘She won’t starve. According to the papers, Schofield gave her ten mill when he sold Raybeck.’
‘He might decide to take it back if, or when, we charge him.’
‘What’s the verdict? Do you think we will?’
‘You’ve seen the emails, what do you think?’
‘It’s pretty damning stuff.’
‘You said it.’
They walked into the Custody Suite. They found Raymond Schofield in Room Three, sitting at the table with the celebrated Brighton lawyer, Jeffrey Campbell. Henderson expected nothing less from the millionaire businessman. Aside from Martin Turner’s defence team at Jonas Baines, Campbell was the best in the business. He just hoped the brief hadn’t instructed his client to keep schtum.
Housekeeping complete, Henderson looked over at Schofield. He looked tanned, relaxed and confident. The DI imagined he had faced many situations like this: negotiating to buy a business they didn’t want to sell, trying to raise capital to finance a new venture, being grilled by rapacious journalists with a hidden agenda. To him, it would simply appear as an intractable problem, requiring the deployment of skilful negotiation and tact to overcome.
‘Mr Schofield, thank you for coming in here today.’
‘I’m always happy to help the police.’
The last time they’d met, he had been dressed in casual clothes, and not his more familiar sharp business attire. It was th
e same again now, a black jacket and white shirt, but he still looked elegant. His combed back, thick brown and grey hair must have been cut regularly, or it didn’t grow much, as it looked the same as the hundreds of pictures of him that were on the web.
‘I’d like to talk to you about your purchase of Blake’s Health Clubs.’
He didn’t know what Schofield expected to be questioned about, but clearly it wasn’t this. He looked suitably taken aback.
‘Erm, I’d wanted to expand into the health clubs market for some time. I owned hotels, coffee shops, and marinas, so stock market analysts considered us a leisure business, and talked about us in the same sentence as Center Parcs or Thorpe Park, which was crap. The addition of health clubs would move us into the lifestyle and fitness sectors, places where I wanted the company to go. You see, I’d also planned to buy a chain of sports shops and start a sports clothing brand, but this all got superseded by the decision I made to sell-up.’
‘What made you do it?’
‘I’m sure it was reported at the time, but I saw the light after the death of my beloved mother, rapidly followed by a health scare; a dodgy ticker requiring the fitting of a pacemaker.’
‘I see. I understand the owner of Blake’s Health Clubs, Allan Blake, was reluctant to sell.’
‘I hope,’ Campbell said, ‘you are not trying to drag up that old murder charge again. My client was exonerated with a clear conscience, thanks to all the good work done by Martin Turner and his team at Jonas Baines, God rest his soul.’
My goodness. Jeffrey Campbell never ceased to amaze him. Here he was not only expressing empathy, but religion too, principles he imagined the man was devoid of.
‘I’m not dragging up anything, merely trying to establish the background to the takeover.’
‘I’d approached Allan over the years, but each time he refused to sell. On my last approach, he told me he’d had testicular cancer. An op had got rid of it, as they’d spotted it early, but it gave him a scare. I thought a cruise on my boat would do him good, and before you get out the violins, I also thought he might be more willing to cash in his chips.’
‘You bought the business from his widow?’
‘She was reluctant to sell at the start, she wanted to preserve Allan’s legacy and all that, but when I told her about his change of heart on the boat, and she realised the business would only be a burden she didn’t need, she relented.’
‘Allan Blake changed his mind?’
‘Yes, on the boat and over a few whiskies he told me of his intention to retire.’
‘He wasn’t old. Mid-fifties I believe.’
‘Same age as me, but a health scare changes a man. I think he’d had enough and wanted to focus on his well-being.’
‘So, you returned from your trip, you were acquitted at trial, and when the dust settled over Allan Blake’s disappearance, Tracey decided to sell.’
‘That’s about the sum of it. We settled on a fair price and she went away happy.’
‘That isn’t quite true, though, is it?’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
He fixed Henderson with a steely stare, an intimidating look, part-malice, part-probing, honed to perfection, no doubt, in update meetings, budget discussions, and financing negotiations. The DI had to admit, it made him feel unnerved.
‘Did you speak to Tracey before your ill-fated yacht trip, trying to persuade her to sell, and for her to work on Allan, to encourage him?’
‘We’d met a couple of times for dinner: me, Rebecca, him and Tracey, so it wasn’t true that I hadn’t spoken to her before. What we didn’t speak about was the business; why would we? She took no interest in the health clubs at all. If she did, I might have tried to get her to talk to Allan about it, but the way things were, he wouldn’t listen to her. She had no credibility on that front in his eyes.’
‘What then, Mr Schofield, do you make of this?’
Henderson opened the folder in front of him and passed over three of the most incriminating emails. They were now encased in protective clear folders. At the moment, it was the only evidence they had and he couldn’t risk them being scrunched or torn to bits by an angry Schofield.
His reaction took Henderson by surprise. His face took on a furious look and his lightly tanned hue turned bright red, a Scandinavian after two days in the Spanish sun.
‘Where the fuck did you get these?’ he shouted, waving one of the emails around. Henderson was glad of their plastic protection.
He sprang to his feet and began pacing the floor, the email gripped tightly in his hand. If he made a beeline for the door, Henderson would stop him, if need be, by arresting him. The meeting today was only an exploratory interview, but if he could not provide a satisfactory explanation to dismiss the evidence, the ramifications were serious.
‘This is outrageous,’ Campbell said, ‘springing this on my client.’
‘Before you go on accusing me, Mr Campbell, remember this is not a formal interview, I can do what I like. However, I suggest you do not encourage your client to leave.’
‘Or what?’
‘You know what. Mr Schofield, please sit down.’
‘This is unbelievable. Where did you get these?’ He spun around, threw the email on the table, and put his hands down, glaring at Henderson. ‘Did that bitch give them to you? I should never have trusted her.’
‘Which bitch are you referring to? I understand there are several.’
‘Hmph’.
‘Sit down!’
He pulled out the seat and sat, his face thunderous.
‘Now,’ Henderson said, ‘what those emails make clear is that you were in negotiation to buy the business from Mrs Blake in the weeks and months before her husband’s death. This contradicts what you told me earlier, and indeed, what was said at your trial.’
‘Ray, don’t answer that,’ Campbell boomed. ‘You’ll perjure yourself.’
‘I’m not as sharp as I used to be,’ Schofield said. ‘I must have got the dates mixed up.’
Henderson gave him a sceptical look. There was nothing wrong with Schofield’s brain, or indeed his ability to try and brazen this out.
‘The dates are only one part of it. What explanation can you give me for the content of those emails? They are not conversational in the least. They are short and snappy, more like a business negotiation. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Schofield was lost for words, maybe for the first time in his career.
‘I draw your attention to the phrase, If Allan doesn’t come back, the business is yours. This sounds like an invitation for Allan Blake to have a nice little accident.’
‘I didn’t kill him, he fell over the side of the boat. It’s a coincidence.’
‘I must protest, Detective Inspector. My client has already been exonerated on this charge. You cannot accuse him of it again without new evidence. These emails don’t prove anything.’
Henderson ignored him. ‘Raymond Schofield, you are under arrest on suspicion of murdering Allan Blake. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
THIRTY-THREE
It was some hours after Ray Schofield had been charged that he calmed down. Henderson and Walters made their way again to the interview room.
While he was being booked in, a search warrant had been issued and a team were now sifting through the contents of his Warninglid property. Clare Mitchell had told Henderson about the house Schofield owned in London, one in Portugal, and another in St Lucia. Henderson would wait until the Warninglid search was concluded, his main residence, before he would decide what to do about the others.
This time, Schofield was being interviewed under caution, meaning anything he said now could be used in court. All the lights were illuminated on the recording equipment
‘Mr Schofield, I’m not here to talk to you about the death of Al
lan Blake.’
‘No? What is it this time? An old cold case you found in your files this morning? Are you keeping me here just to improve your stats or something?’
‘I will speak to you about Allan Blake’s death in due course, but for the moment I want to talk to you about your divorce from Rebecca.’
‘Why? What’s that got to do with you people?’
‘Bear with me and all will be revealed.’
‘I can’t wait.’
Henderson didn’t say anything: he had raised the subject and it was up to Schofield to respond.
‘What can I say?’ he said with an exaggerated shrug. ‘We were married for twenty seven years and fell out of love. The spark evaporated, for want of a better metaphor. It happens to even the best marriages; one day I decided I’d had enough and wanted a divorce.’
‘The way she tells it, based on the various newspaper articles I’ve read, it was more to do with your affairs with various women. The straw that broke the camel’s back, to use another metaphor, was your dalliance with her best friend, Sylvie Goss.’
‘She says this, and I say that. I don’t care. It will all come out in court and be pored over endlessly by the tabloids in any case.’
‘Rebecca is being represented by lawyers at Jonas Baines. Alex Vincent, to be precise.’
‘Poor guy, such a gruesome way to die, under the wheels of a train.’
‘Hear, hear,’ his lawyer, Jeffrey Campbell said.
‘Following a break-in at Jonas Baines in the early hours of 8th February, four weeks ago, when one of their lawyers was stabbed to death, a number of documents were discovered to be missing. This includes one I have since supplied to Mr Campbell and I’m showing the defendant now. It lists a series of Caribbean bank accounts all in your name, Mr Schofield, with the balance of all the accounts displayed. In total, it amounts to around five hundred million pounds.’
Schofield’s anger showed once again, but as this indiscretion wouldn’t award him any more jail time, it didn’t reach the volcanic heights of the earlier interview.
Schofield was about to say something, when Campbell laid a hand on his arm, a sign for him to shut up.
